Constant
by countrybutterfly
Summary: A look a the life, thus far, of David Karofsky through the one thing in his life that's always been the same.


Four-year-old David Karofsky pulled himself up until he was standing as far on the tips of his toes as he possibly could without toppling over. In fact, if he hadn't been holding on to the countertop with his mitten covered hands he probably would have already been sprawled across the floor. Still, even with all his effort, his eyes managed to peer just over the flat surface. There was a room back there and he could just make out the rows of shelves with little marks across the bottom.

He looked to the older man beside him, "Grandpa? Where are we?"

"Patience, David," Came the soft chuckle, "You want to ring the bell?"

The child's eyes lit up as he focused on the silver noisemaker resting on the counter. Holding on tight with one hand he snaked the other one up and over, stretching, stretching…yet, he still couldn't reach it. His arm was starting to tire, but being the stubborn child he was he had a little more fight in him. Suddenly, his hand simply glided across until he managed to create the 'ding' to let anyone know they were waiting. And then his grandfather placed him back on the floor.

"I wanted to do it all by myself."

"Everyone needs some help every once in a while." The older man shared the little bit of wisdom as a teenager appeared from the back room and the elder Karofsky turned his attention away from Dave, "Yes, Hello, I think we'll just get the day pass today, but how much is a child's membership, just in case?"

David took the opportunity to look around. Behind him were the doors they entered through. Next to that was a counter with a big plastic jar of bubble gum, and another filled with cookies. He knew where he wanted to go next.

"All set, come along, David." His grandfather caught his hand and pulled him in the opposite direction until they reached a long wooden bench. The fifty-five year old man took off his grandson's shoes replacing him with another pair of shoes that a confused David saw had something shiny attached on the bottom, before the older man did the same for himself.

"Okay, now this is going to be a bit hard the first time but you'll get used to it. Just hold on tight, okay?"

He did as he was told and wobbled his way to the giant room lined with windows. If he'd had gotten excited at the prospect of ringing a little bell, staring at the room with a floor made of ice took his breath away, "We get to walk on that?"

"Skate, David, we're going to skate on the ice."

* * *

"That's my boy, David." The rather deep voice of his grandfather drifted over the crowd until it reached the seven year old's ears. "That's how you do it."

David's smile grew twice as large as he followed the rest of his teammates to the side of the rink, handing his stick over to the parent in charge of them for this week. He rushed to put his covers on so he'd be the first to get out and meet his grandfather.

"Bye Coach." He shouted over his head.

"Hey, David, wait up, I want to talk to your parents."

Slumping his shoulders the first grader led the middle age man to the seats occupied by his father and grandfather. The three men exchanged handshakes before the coach started, and a bored David only caught every other word like 'promise' and 'practice' and 'college scholarship', whatever that was. He just wanted to get the pretzel with cheese he got after every game for playing well. Which he had to wait forever (even if his dad told him it was only twenty minutes) to get.

As they wait in line the fifty-seven year old Nicholas Karofsky looks down, "I'm proud of you, David."

He doesn't exactly know what it means, but from the look on his grandfather's face it's a good thing. Maybe it meant he could get two pretzels this week.

* * *

The ten year old sits on the couch while everyone comes up to him and tells him that they're sorry that his grandmother died.

_Died_.

He doesn't like that word. His dog died, bugs die, but his grandmother isn't supposed to die. She makes cookies, she picks him up from school so they can pick grandpa up from work before hockey practice; that's what his grandmother does. But that's not what every one is saying. So now he has to sit on the couch with the itchy white shirt and the tie and everyone talking around. Everyone is talking too much.

An older woman who he recognizes from church is suddenly in front of him and he can't take it anymore.

"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up." He shouts causing the entire room to look at him. He sees his father glaring from beside the steps and so the ten year old runs out of the house knocking over two flower pots as he goes. He angrily plops onto the front steps and buries his head into his arm. There are a lot of words coming from behind him; he can hear his parents and grandfather arguing, so he digs his head deeper until a tap on top his head makes him look up.

Nicholas Karofsky stands over him, his eyes are flooded, but the older man's face isn't tear stained like David's face is. Quickly wiping his face as dry as possible he follows as his grandfather walks down the drive. The entire two-block walk is silent, and the silence continues while both Karofsky men put their boots on. There are only a couple of people taking up the ice on one end of the rink, so they set up the net. Nicholas lays down a good twenty something pucks in front of his grandson. He hands over one hockey stick to David and keeps another for himself.

"Take it out on the ice, David, not on your mother's flowers."

* * *

"There you go." David hands over the skates to the mother and child on the other side of the counter before the pair walks away towards the rows of benches.

From behind, the fourteen year old feels a hand fall on his shoulder.

"Thanks, Dave, I appreciate your help." The rink owner is standing beside him, "But you're good to go. Got any plans?"

The high school freshmen nods, "Yeah, my grandfather is meeting me here for a skate."

"I don't who works you harder- your coach or that old man, but I've seen your game. It pays off doesn't it? You going to try out for the McKinley team?"

Dave shrugs, in a effort to look modest, the coach had been to his games the last season to make sure that Dave Karofsky knew that he'd better try out.

"Well, I think you should, and I also think you should go get your boots on. Nicholas doesn't like to wait."

Dave offers a smile know that older man spoke the truth, which is why it's weird he hadn't seen his Grandfather walk in already. Not thinking much of it, Dave laces up his boots and heads out on the ice to warm up. He's made a couple of laps when the sound of his name echoes over the ice. With little grace, his growing, lumbering body pauses as he brakes and turns.

His father stands on the outside of the rink wearing a face that makes Dave think that getting slammed against the wall during a game isn't the worst feeling in the world. Reluctantly he skates to the edge and steps out.

"Where's Grandpa?" Dave asks, hoping.

His dad's emotions are barely staying checked as he starts to talk. But all Dave can hear is that word he hates so much.

* * *

A series of loud booms echo, as each row of lights turn on one at a time overhead until the rink is now full lit.

"Glad you're feeling better. The kids missed 'Coach Dave' at practice last night. Well, the ice is ready for you. Take as long as you need to Dave. I'll be in the office, so I'll see you if you need anything and I'll be back down for practice. You'll be there right? You're their hero, you know?"

The seventeen year old simply nods and Bill, his once coach now the owner of the ice rink, doesn't think much of the silence as he walks out, leaving the high school athlete on his own. Dave sighs, and he hasn't felt the cold this much in a long time. Years, at least.

He focuses on getting the net out and lining up the pucks across the ice. It's not really his job in the game to score, but he needs this right now. With another deep breath, he allows all of his thoughts to come flooding forward, hitting a puck across the ice for each that surfaces.

Puck one: Kurt Hummel.

Puck two: Locker rooms.

Puck three: Kurt Hummel.

Puck four: These feelings.

Puck five: His grandfather.

Puck six: Kurt Hummel.

Puck seven: Everything he _knows_ about himself.

Puck eight: Everything he knows about himself that he doesn't want to true.

Puck nine: _Kissing_ Kurt Hummel.

Puck ten: Hockey.

Puck eleven: _"You're their hero, you know?"_

Puck twelve; _""Take it out on the ice, David, not on your mother's flowers."_

Or in this case, puck number thirteen_: "Take it out on the ice, Dave, not on Kurt Hummel."_

* * *

**Author's Note**:

As always I don't own Glee.

Thanks to my beta: **Veritas4Eternity**

And for everyone who reads the rest of my stuff…I will be updating 'This Time Around' and the follow up to 'Post Cards' soon…so no worries there.

Would love to hear what you all think of this, as well as the other one-shot I've posted today!


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